


Red

by CrumblingAsh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom Natasha, F/M, Implied Past Abuse, Protective Natasha, Sub Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:16:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I don’t think we’re supposed to be equals in this relationship.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“You’ve always been my equal. I’ve just never told anyone.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(This is a prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4398362">Culling</a>, but can be read by itself)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Culling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398362) by [CrumblingAsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh). 



* * *

 

 

There are no whips.

There are no chains, no leather restraints, no pieces of polished wood to bruise and raise skin.

There’s no bench, there’s no post.

There’s no room dedicated to bring his pain.

His life has been filled with too much of it.

 

 

He remembers asking her.

“Will it …” he had licked his lips, had shifted his weight, had fought down the anxious dread that he had been about to lose everything before he had even gotten it. “Will it be … will it be a problem?”

He remembers that she had smiled; small, open – so different from her normal, wicked grins. He remembers that her eyes had been as sad as he had felt.

“No.”

He trembles, and with just the slightest hesitation to allow him to say no, she touches his cheek.

“I don’t like pain, either.”

 

 

She means more than he ever will, her life worth more than his.

Dominant.

submissive.

That’s what the laws say – that’s what his life has always said, in words and bruises and denial and pain.

He is, technically, nothing.

submissive.

But she touches him like he’s a piece of Heaven she’s honored to be allowed to see.

 

 

When he kneels for her, it’s on accident, and it’s –

It’s fucking wonderful.

They’re on the couch in a safe house, his head in her lap, her fingers running trails through his hair. It’s normal for them, the soothing after a mission.

She starts humming, her voice trapped in her throat and reverberating like the sorrowful, beautiful cries of a solitary violin, and between one note and the next, he isn’t in his body anymore.

It feels right to be sliding from the couch and onto his knees.

Staring up at her.

 

 

“I trust you,” he murmurs as her shaking hands clasp the chain around his neck.

Fine. Silver. Barely able to be seen – necessary in their line of work.

A small, deep ruby at the back.

“I trust you,” he says again-

Tilts his head up to kiss her tears.

 

 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be equals in this relationship.”

“You’ve always been my equal. I’ve just never told anyone.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you supposed to listen to _me?”_

“You _just said_ -.”

“And I listen to _you_.”

“…”

 

 

She puts his fingers around her neck sometimes.

He holds on as hard, for as long, as she wants.

As she needs.

 

 

Espionage.

Assassinations.

Life is never easy.

 _Red_ , they both agree, is the word they need.

It’s so wrong inside of them, so busted and heavy-

What else can make them stop faster, than to remember why it should have never started?

 

 

They don’t talk about Budapest.

They don’t talk about Loki.

They don’t talk about Coulson.

They never talk about the times he _crawls_ to her and _begs_ her to whip him until he bleeds.

They never talk about the times she has to _hide_ from him until she knows she won’t listen.

 

 

When she comes to him with a velvet box the holds a golden chain with an arrow in its center,

when she puts it in hands with a firm look that smiles,

when she sinks to her knees in a fluid movement that is just as graceful as his have ever been,

when she whispers, “I’ve _always_ trusted you.”

as he closes the clasp that locks the necklace around her neck not unlike his own collar,

he understands why her fingers had shaken,

and he understands why she had cried.

 

 

The Avengers, for all of five minutes, are frightening.

Until they’re not.

With her at his side, he can find Tony hilarious, can find Thor to be entertaining, can find Steve to be a friend, can find Bruce to be insightful and a little more vulnerable than he is.

One day, in the beginning, Tony quietly, cautiously asks if _they_ need a special room, a separate place for their time together.

She fiddles with her necklace and says, as she had Before, “No.”

He grins wide, his collar light but warm weight on his neck.

His hand tangles with her free one under the table.

Tony smiles at them both.

 

 

To Clint, coming to Natasha always feels like walking through the front door of a welcoming home.

He sleeps on her legs and kneels to her musical humming, laughs at her looks and cries when the words between them become confessions.

“I love you,” she says softly most nights, when they find their bed, her fingers tracing along his chain, his collar, his tie to her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

His fingers tangle in her own necklace, holding, as he murmurs back with a small smile of contentment, “Who else needs to know but me?”


End file.
